Peace and Absolution
by Magick
Summary: Set post X3, Erik Lensherr Magneto is trying to find a way to say goodbye to his oldest friend. Erik/Charles, some Erik/OC


Greetings and salutations! Welcome to my first foray into the world of XMen.

I do not own Xmen, or anything that you may recognize. They are the property of Marvel comics. I am not doing this for any form of profit, just for the enjoyment of the fans. Merci, and thanks.

So just a few quick notes before we continue-

1. For those of you die hard comicverse fans, I apologize. I am aware that Erik's wife was Magda, (mother of Pietro and Wanda, ect ect) but I've taken some liberties in this story. Thus, no Magda, no Maximoff twins.

2. Constructive criticism is really appreciated, I would love to know what Im doing right, and what I can improve on.

3. The backstory that he's remembering is part of a Universe created by a good friend of mine, in a Marvel rpg, (tabletop). If you'd like more information about it, you can always ask. I have been thinking of opening an rp board in this setting (1950's) so if anyone is interested, just tell me!

Music reccomendation: 'Bravedancing' by Rachael Sage.

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The graveyard was an old one, stones and statuary turning green with moss- some so ancient that they had fallen over and been covered by the encroaching menace known only as Time. Erik walked slowly along one of the cracked paths, the spaces between the stones pushed farther apart by weed and hardy grass that made the niches their home. It wasn't a nice day, particularly. Grey and overcast, with the thread of rain in the air, coloring everything with the smell of ozone and humid warmth. It was almost too still, no breeze to ruffle the late summer leaves in the supple, delicate brances of the willow trees. But it wasn't for the beauty of the scenery that the older man had made the long journey from New York to Chicago, and as he turned one of the narrow turns in the path, he saw his destination directly ahead.

Time hadn't been kind to the little stone marker, eroding the edges of the letters, smoothing the cracks wrought of moisture and ice. It was a simple thing, a plain arch of low grade marble- but it had been all they could afford at the time. Erik closed his eyes for a moment, recalling the memory of Charles sitting at their worn out table, calculating how much they could afford. Funeral rights had been expensive, even then; and even with their careful spending, they had nearly beggared themselves to see her interred in a proper grave, in a proper cemetary. And over the years, they had often talked of replacing it with something more grand, more fitting the memory she had left behind- but always with the same conclusion. This humble space was all that remained of that short time in their lives, and the memories it evoked, kept from fading, were more important than any man made monument could ever be. Overlooked by a white lilac tree, which had been barely more then a stripling when first they saw the place- they had known then that it was right. She wouldn't have wanted anything more grand.

A frivolous concern, she would have called it. Spending money on the dead that could have been much better put to use to feed the living. But she couldn't have known, couldn't have predicted what was going to happen. Frivolous maybe, but it was their way of saying all that they could never tell her in life. Perhaps all the things that they never had the chance to tell her. More then a year of contemplation, of 'maybe today', and then- without warning- they ran out of time. Like the lilac, the remains of that years tiny purple flowers strewn across the grass, brown and soft. The clock had struck midnight, and they realized for the first time, that Death's cold hand could touch them in their little world.

He paused as he stepped up to the plot, reading the name on the stone out of long habit. Tracing the words etched into the surface with his eyes, as once he had traced the contours of her face, comitting it to memory. Erik tipped his hat off, tucking it under the arm that also held his folded over coat. It had been colder in New York. He didn't make this trip as often as he once had; and in many ways it seemed like a lifetime since he had been a young man here. And the streets that had once been familiar, once been home, were now built up with high rises and apartment buildings- strange, and himself strange in them. A harsh reminder that he was not young anymore either. And things had happened, and there had always been a good reason not to visit.

Charles had been no less guilty. The both of them promising that soon, they would go back. And eventually forgetting, and yet not forgetting. The pain of her death simply becoming the starting point in a seeminly endless wave of loss that threatened to eventually crash around them. But she was the first. "Hello, my dear," He greeted the stone. But her shade had long since left this place, and the stone said nothing. Logically he knew this would happen; it didn't make it any easier. The hopeless desire that, since he made the effort to come this far- that she would meet him halfway. The words hung there in the air for a moment, the echo of the sound still imprinted in his mind.

And it was only him now, standing here alone, staring at a stone that he had placed here when he was a young man. And no more would Charles visit this place with him, for he was the only one on this side of the divide.

"You were always the one to try and take care of us, weren't you? _'Take a coat, it might rain'_..." Erik said quietly, more to himself that anyone else. "The both of you were so much better at taking care of everyone else- perhaps now you can do the same in Heaven. You promised that you would save a place for me- give it to him, Violet. It seems that I won't be joining you there after all. But perhaps you knew that before everyone else. Charles was so blinded by his own innate goodness that he could never believe that I wouldn't eventually come around to his way of thinking. Unfortunately, he was wrong." He paused for a long moment, little flickering, half formed memories flickering in his mind.

He could remember the way she had felt in his arms, the first time. The way the crushed grass had smelled beneath their feet, and the scratchy sound of the old radio playing Glenn Miller. They hadn't gotten on well, in the beginning. He had always seemed to bring out the worst in her- a spark of fire in her nature that was deeply buried beneath a shy, hesitant sweetness that everyone else saw. To him, Violet had seemed a single flickering candle flame in a world full of dark, empty windows. And as the last notes of the song sounded, he had held her closer then he had held another living person.

Resisting the urge to drive his fist into her boyfriend's face, everytime he touched her. Charles laughter in the background, commenting that he had never seen the usually composed young man come so undone over something so small. But how could he understand? He hadn't watched looters steal gold fillings and boots from the dead; had never been consumed by that overpowering need to hold onto what ever you could. Violet was his. Charles was his. She had told him that he loved better then he knew, with a depth that even he could never be aware of- not entirely true. He knew, only ever too late.

It would take a near tragedy for him to tell her how much he had come to care for her.

The expression on Charles' face had been priceless, when they had walked into the room hand in hand. For all his brilliance, for all he believed that nothing could surprise him- he had missed the most obvious thing of all. Right under his nose, and perhaps that was why it never occured to him that they would end up together. Ironic.

Trying to convince Charles that it didn't matter- that every revolution had casualties. They they had had to run, there wasn't a second option. Charles calling him on the slight end in his voice, asking which one of them he was trying to convince. And when she had come back to them, the disconcerting knowledge that he was happy that she had returned. It had all been so very confusing, for a young man still so haunted by older memories, darker images that played in his mind. And maybe it had been his fear of losing her; but he had been waiting for the right moment to ask her to be his wife, when she died. And if the right moment had come, he had been to blind to see it.

Clutching at Charles, as he did the same, for support. Then there had been only the two of them, bound together for the rest of their lives by a past, by memories. By something deeper; at that time illegal; that they rarely spoke of the next morning. And what had started as a deperate bid to prove that they were still alive, to temporarily drive away the shadows of Death that had clustered around them so tightly it was hard to breathe. Ah, he thought, how his precious Xmen would have recoiled in horror from their leader if they had known the truth.

A hundred nights that they had sought their oblivion in each other's arms. In physical sensation that slayed doubt, and left them gasping and sated- content. A familar voice, murmuring dreams in the darkness, weaving together the strands of their different beliefs into something that would be beautiful. Something that would change the world as they knew it. A place that would be free to all mutants who wished to learn. To make lives for themselves that were worth living. A fortress where they could be themselves, among other people who also knew what it was to hide. A brilliant, shining jewel of a dream.

"You would have been proud of him, my dear. He never lost his idealistic mind; he always believed that the inherent goodness in mankind would be the beginning of an age of peace. And I- ah, my ambition was too great, my mind too jaded to believe in such a world. Mutants lining the street, waiting for a Cure that magically transforms them into something human. But could they ever be? When they memories are that of a mutant, hunted and feared- could they ever truly become human? I didn't have the answer then, though recent events have given me some additional perspective.'

"And for the first time, I stand before this stone as nothing more then a man. A man who has displayed shockingly ill judgement in the past, and so I commend Charles spirit to the best care I could ever imagine. Take care of him, Violet. For upon my death, it will not be those Elysian fields that I am bound for- I know that now, as I knew it then. I have always acted without care for my soul, and it's those acts that I will have to make ammends for in the life after. I never believed it before, but perhaps I have seen too much death. And I.." He paused for a long moment, marshalling his words, and taking a breath to stop the faint catch in his voice.

"And I cannot believe that you both are simply gone."

Erik took a slow breath, focusing for a moment on the flow of air in and out of his lungs- something Charles had taught him years ago, and perhaps something he should have practiced more. Did it matter now? They had been his balancing points, a third person conscience that had saved him so many times from falling into the darker reaches of his own ambition. Saved him- and yet here he searched for an Absolution that he would never find.

That he would spend the rest of his life looking for.

"I wouldn't think less of you for blaming me; truthfully, I blame myself. I should have done something differently, for both of you. But what? I don't think I ever truly believed that he would be taken from me. No feeling of terrible forboding, no warning! I watched him die, and did nothing.." He could feel the hot sting of tears in his eyes, the burning in his throat- such unfamiliar sensations. But he was only mortal, and those words- the final grain of sand that tipped the scale; a lifetime of sorrows that could no longer be contained.

The grass was damp, soaking patches through the knees of his pants as he knelt before the humble stone. For Erik, there was no sobbing, no screaming release of the grief. Just tears flooding over his cheeks, warmth he didn't even notice. Eyes wide open, staring up at the clear blue sky as if in it's age, it might have the wisdom to grant forgiveness. A habit left behind from his childhood, when he had prayed to the Almighty to take away the powers that he knew, _he knew _ made him different. He did not pray now, his heart too jaded for too long to allow himself the comfort of faith. So long since he had been that little boy- so long, at yet the habit remained.

"Take care of him, my dear... And don't worry for me, I shall be fine. I always am."

And with that, he perched his hat on his head, and turned away from the grave. There would be no balm for these wounds, no comfort for the survivor's guilt. He was not a young man, and knew he would not live long enough to let Time heal the deep grief. But until then he would continue in the only way he knew. Erik Lensherr did not not believe in soulmates; all he knew was that twice in his life, he had loved more honestly then most people could even imagine he was capable of. And he had watched them both die.

"I loved him, but never told him. The timing was never right."

And he was gone. Soon, peace.

Peace at last.

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End file.
